Human After All?

The Engineer is a very serious man who commits himself wholly to his projects. He rents a two-bedroom apartment and lives there alone. He spends most of his time at the lab. At home, at night, he cooks himself pasta and pretends to be an alchemist. He watches the Discovery Channel every night before bed.

The Engineer is a very serious man, indeed.

* * *

The Engineer is annoyed with his neighbors. They’re having sex like elephants and they’re enjoying it like Roman emperors. They’re making it difficult to hear the Discovery Channel, which, at present, is showing a special on robotics. The Engineer stomps on the floor. “Get a room!” he shouts, spitting a little. He stomps again. “Get a different room is what I meant! In a different apartment!”

* * *
The Engineer was inspired by the special on robotics. He is inspecting engines in an automobile graveyard. A hungry-looking man in blue overalls owns the lot, and he has jokingly offered to pay the Engineer a dollar to figure out which engines still work.

“What do you mean you’d pay a dollar?” the Engineer chides. “For God’s sake!”

The owner laughs and flails his arms and rattles off a series of expressions that escape the Engineer’s understanding.

“Shit,” the Engineer hisses. “What good are you?”

* * *

It has been six weeks and the Engineer has constructed a robotic slave. Its body is the tower of a Macintosh LC3, and its head is an LCD monitor. It can express nine emotions, which are indicated by pictures the Engineer drew himself in four minutes’ time. It has never been activated. The Engineer is sweating. He extends a fluttering hand and pokes the slave’s power button. His second bedroom—which he warmly refers to as his “private laboratory”—takes on the delicate odor of heated plastic. The slave beeps four times. Its monitor-face flickers into a smile.

“Howdy!” it shouts, and the Engineer’s body becomes very suddenly erect.

* * *
The Engineer is sitting at his kitchen table, opposite the robotic slave.

“Fetch me a glass of wine, slave!” he commands.

“Mur-lawt er’ Pee-nawt No-wurr?” the slave questions, eager to serve. The Engineer is visibly jarred by its “butchered words.”

“Must you speak that way?” The Engineer steals a glance of his tools. “You sound like fucking Slingblade!”

* * *
It has been six weeks and the Engineer has not been able to “fix” the slave’s slow, southern drawl. At present, he is disassembling his creation with terrifying intensity. The robot’s monitor-face alternates between panic and despair.

“Cain’t yuh’ lub me? I serves ya’ good ‘nuff! Cain’t yuh’ lub me?”

The Engineer pries the LC3 processor from the robot’s chest. The robot’s voice warbles away. The Engineer stares coldly at its monitor-face, now fading quickly to black. For a moment, the Engineer is still. He checks his watch and retires to his bedroom. He turns on his televisions and begins to watch the Discovery Channel. His royal elephant neighbors are at it once again.

In six weeks, the Engineer will die of a heart attack and his coworkers will boast of his accomplishments.